


Internal Chaos

by Nandice



Category: The Death Cure (Movie), The Maze Runner (Movies), Thomas/Newt - Fandom, newtmas - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Aww, F/F, F/M, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Letters to Thomas, M/M, Newt Self-Doubt, Newt is BACK, Newt shouldn’t have died in the movies like wtf man, Newt/Thomas - Freeform, Newt’s POV (mostly), Safe Haven, Slight Character Death, Slight Violence, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Thomas, Teresa is BACK, Thomas Dom, Thomas/Teresa - Freeform, jealousy and anger issues, midnight swims, newt/depression, takes place after The Death Cure movie, thomas pov, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-03-13 16:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13574652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nandice/pseuds/Nandice
Summary: Newt doesn't understand why he's feeling so troubled, they'd finally arrived at the Safe Haven, and by some unknown miracle, everyone he cared for made it here alive, but he just has this itch. An itch in the pit of his stomach that he can't ignore anymore. An itch he wants to shove down a deep hole, in fear that one day, he'll admit this itch to someone. An itch for Thomas.





	1. Fusterating relief

He's so godamn beautiful. Thats all that ever goes through my mind when I come here. Which is a lot. 

I take my eyes off the ethereal angel, and look to the calm waves pushing onto the fine sand. I can smell that distinctive "beach" smell if I focus hard enough on my breath. I've been here long enough, so I'm used to it now. 

It's sunny out. Only a few lonely, clouds wonder the sky. I notice this because of the way the light hits him. It seeps through the gaps of the wooden walls of the shed, and cascades onto the breath-taking curves of his face - his sharp jaw, his long, dark eyelashes, his slightly parted lips and his short, cocoa hair. 

I cringe. I cringe at myself, for thinking of him like this. I shouldn't. Theres no point admiring, _hoping_ for something I can never have. He'll never see me as anything more than a close friend, he'll never look at me with the same eyes he's used to look at Teresa with, the same eyes he'll look at her with when he wakes up. I shouldn't even be here. Why am I here? I'm a creep. A foolish, shuck creep who stares at Thomas while he sleeps. I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my face in my hands. 

" _Idiot"_ I mutter to myself. Even _if_ Thomas __was bisexual, he wouldn't waste his time on me. Why would he? I'm far lass interesting than basically everyone in the whole damn Safe Haven. I'm just a boring, ugly, shucking creep who stares at Thomas while he sleeps.

I hastily run my fingers through my messy hair and angrily get up from my chair. My eyes automatically sweep toward Thomas one last time before I leave. I'm startled to see that his half-open hazel eyes are lazily staring back at me, and that his lips are pulled into a warm smile. "Newt" he manages to get out, his voice is quiet and raspy, and I can't help but notice how slowly his endless eyelashes move up and down as he blinks.

I'm frozen in place, despite my hot, now-rosey cheeks. 

_How long has he been awake for? Did he hear me talk to myself? Did he see me staring at him? Was I muttering all my thoughts out loud instead if keeping them in my head?_   


I interrupt my thoughts by plastering a smile onto my face that quickly melts into something genuine.

"Tommy, you've risen from your grave!" I chuckle, "From the amount of sleep you've had, I bet you won't need to rest ever again."

His hazel eyes open a little wider after they clenched together while he laughed.

"How long have I been out?' He grunts as he sits up in his bed.

"About a week, they put you on some crazy meds"

I try not to stare as he lifts his shirt a little to reveal the bullet wound in his stomach. His toned stomach muscles contract as he traces the blood stain on the bandage where the bullet entered him. I want to lift his shirt up even more. I want to see more of him.

_Stop. You can't. You won't. You'll ruin your friendship._

__"Damn. Long time." His thick, dark eyebrows furrow as he drops his shirt, and looks down at his fidgeting hands. He suddenly looks up, and around the room, slight panic settling into him.

"Hey, hey don't worry. I'm here. You're safe. You've made it to the Safe Haven. We all have."

"The Safe Haven..." He barely whispers, hardly pronouncing his words as he collects his thoughts. Eyes still not particularly focused on anything yet, I take this opportunity to admire his lips. soft, slightly parted. He bites on his bottom lip and my heart nearly falls out of my chest. That warm sensation in my chest overcomes me and I quickly avert my gaze and attempt to nonchalantly run my hand through my hair. I hope I managed to play that off.

"C'mon, everyone out there has been waiting for you to wake up" I say as I offer him my hand to help him get onto his feet. Thomas looks up at me, a hint of confusion still in his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifting as his gaze softens.

"Yeah... Yeah - okay let's go" He says like he's giving himself a pep talk, grabbing my hand and pulling himself up.

His grip is strong, and despite the size of his hands, they're soft and warm. He's standing now. neither of us are letting go. I nervously glance at him and catch his eyes quickly look up to my eyes from my lips.

_Don't be stupid, why would he be looking at your lips? He was probably just looking at your hands, wondering why you're still holding his._   


I quickly let go of his hand, noticing the loss of warmth, and nervously run my hand through my hair as I look down. I can feel his gaze on me, but I can't bring myself to look up in fear of how red my cheeks are.

"Ha hah... uhh, lets go say hi to everyone shall we?" I manage to blurt out, not moving my head, but looking up at him with a nervous glance.

He smiles, showing his beautiful teeth, which only make my cheeks rosier, "Yeah, I'm starting to feel great after that quick power nap" he winks at me with his beautifully crooked grin and walks out the shed. 

I have to collect myself for a second or two before I can step out as well, trying to process what's just happened. My heart - plummeting deeper and deeper into the ground.

I manage to cover up my feelings and quickly catch up to him,

"Gee, Thomas, slow down or you might face-plant like you did when you ran out of the cage on your first day!" I chuckle, remembering the very first day I laid my eyes on Thomas, the ethereal angel.

"Ha ha... you're never going to let that go, are you?" He elbows me playfully.

"Not a chance, Tommy, not a chance."


	2. Just Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just Thomas, me and the screeching echo in my head telling me to hold his sharp-jawed, long eye-lashed, beauty-spotted, hazel-eyed, imperfectly-perfect face in my hands and kiss him breathless, until we both pass out from the lack of oxygen.

Thomas seems to be settled in now, it warmed my heart to see how excited he was to greet everyone this morning, and everyone els seemed to share the same excitement when they saw him, greeting him with warm with smiles and hugs. Teresa hugged him longer than any of the others had. Or maybe she hadn't, and I'm just overanalysing it. I don't know why that matters. It shouldn't.

The sun had sunk under the horizon a couple of hours ago, so the only light available to us is the moon and the gigantic, celebratory bonfire we lit every night since we got here - a reminder of our victory. We're still trying to work the whole "electricity" thing out, we should have it up in a day or two - by connecting the remaining energy flowing through the power lines to our system.

It's funny actually. Reminds me of the Glade. Starting fresh, figuring things out by ourselves. As a matter of fact, a lot of the old Gladers are still taking charge - obviously with the help of Vince, Jorge and a couple others. We're all one big community. And we're free. That's the difference this time, between the Safe Haven and the Glade - _we're free._

I take another big gulp of whatever alcoholic substance is in my cup, it baffles me - that we managed to figure out a way to make some sort of booze before finding out how to get electricity to run in this place.  
I push my toes further into the cold, slightly damp sand and lean my head back onto the wooden walkway behind me while sighing heavily - maybe a little obnoxiously, because Minho seems to notice my frustration. He elbows me from where he sits next to me, "You alright, man?" he asks, with a slight glint of concern in his eyes as he glances toward me. I don't look at him, instead I focus on stars and how many more I can see, compared to when we were in the city.

"Yeah, everything's good. Just been feeling a little off lately." I admit, shrugging nonchalantly.  
"Well, if that's the case - I can tell you that whatever's in your cup, won't solve anything." He gestures to my half empty cup. My second one tonight.   
I push my head up, off the walkway to look at the reddish-brown water sloshing around in my cup. I can't bring myself to look at him, not when he's interrogating me like this, even though I know he only means well.

"It's nothing, really. You know I have my days, Minho, but I've got it under control now. You don't have to worry." I choke out as my throat tightens, stumbling on my words.

_God, can you not contain yourself just once? Fucking hold it together, Newt, don't be such a bloody shank._

"You know you can always talk to me, and you know how worried I can get about you ever since-" Minho quickly stops himself, taking a second to think about his words, but I already know what he was going to say. He didn't need to say them out loud for me to hear them.

We sit in silence for a minute while he collects his thoughts. I'm too busy trying to blink away the burning acid in my eyes to judge whether the situation is awkward or not.

"Just... know that I'm always here okay?" He says, struggling to find the perfect words, "I don't want to force you to confess every secret, or explain every thought that circles round in your head, but... I just... I want you to be alright." He looks up from the sand and meets my eyes, genuine concern written all over his face. Hands slightly gesturing, where they rest with his arms on his knees. I know he means well, I know he just wants me to be alright. I am alright. Everything's fine. I want to tell him that, but instead I break our eye contact and let my eyes wander over the beach, small groups of bubbly people scattered around the bonfire. Gally, Frypan and Brenda are playfully running around, trying to frantically shove handfuls sand down each other's shirts. I continue to scan around the fire, my gaze immediately stopping when it meet's Thomas'.

The light from the bonfire hits him perfectly, the warm, fiery tones highlight his breath-taking features, his toned arms that are folded stiffly on his chest somewhat match the concerned expression on his face, his sharp jaw - clenched, and eyebrows - furrowed, as his eyes wander over me, he leans against a wooden pole, jutting out from the sand.

I nervously break eye contact and run my hand through my hair, quickly looking down at the fine sand, which now seems to be my only place of comfort, with Minho still awaiting an answer, and Thomas staring at me from across the flaming bonfire.

This is too much for me.

"I'm fine, really." I blurt out, a hint of annoyance in my tone, my voice cracking half way through as I quickly get up and make my way to my hammock. Admittedly, losing my balance and swaying a bit as I walk. Minho was right about one thing, the booze won't ever be the answer to any of my problems.

 

~~~

 

I can't sleep.

Especially since I hear Thomas walking in with Teresa, whispering and giggling to each other. I roll over and taste something bitter at the back of my throat. I shut my eyes, as if the harder my eyelids are pressed together, the faster I'll get to sleep. "Shh-SHhhShhhh..." Teresa giggles in a whisper-shout, I imagine her swaying back and fourth, and dramatically putting her finger to her lips as she says it, she obviously had more than one-and-a-half-cups of booze. "People are sleeeeping Thomassss" She snorts, slurring her words. Thomas laughs quietly, but gleefully at the same time. I can almost see him stare at her lips as she puts her fingers to them while she shushes him. I feel a pang in my gut, a cold, sharp pang of jealousy. I feel my throat tightening again, it's becoming harder to swallow.

"You're the one making all the noise, why you blaming me?" He chuckles, I notice he's definitely had enough to drink as well, but he's not quite in the state Teresa's in. I imagine him exaggerating his facial expressions, pouting at the end of his question. 

A few gut pangs, bitter tastes and jaw clenches later, both of them have finally made it to their hammocks, Thomas' being right next to mine. 

I need some air.

I wait a good ten minutes before I'm sure I can get up and not wake him, and everyone els in the wooden, croaky, but homely room filled with slowly-swaying hammocks.

I carefully jump down from my hammock and lazily make my way outside. I gravitate toward the shore, and let my feet seep into the soft, watery blankets of the calm waves washing onto the shore. 

_Why do I feel like this? Why now? When everything's finally gone right, when all of us are finally safe, alive. Why can't I run around with Brenda, Gally and Frypan, frantically shoving sand down everyone's shirts?  I can't feel anything. It's like the giant gap of my life that W.I.C.K.E.D stole from me, is turning into an emotion-sucking black hole. I want to feel something. Anything. I want to feel Thomas. I want to feel his soft lips explore my skin, I want to feel the way his tongue glides across mine, I want to grab the nape of his neck and pull him closer than I have anyone before. I want to be breathless with him, breathing in each other. Needing each other._

_I'm scared. I'm falling in love with someone I'll never have a chance with. There's nothing to distract me now. No maze, no W.I.C.K.E.D, no cranks, no lost Minho, no memories. Nothing to help push the feelings away with for just a little longer. Now all I can focus on is him. Thomas. I repeat his name in my head like a mantra, "Thomas" spinning round and round like a tornado trying to force it's way out of my mind. I wont let it escape. I can't. He can never know how I feel, no one should.  
_

I stop myself, I'm on the brink of tears as I angrily take my shirt and cargo pants off. I tread into the freezing cold water, which helps a bit, I can feel something now. I dive in as soon as I'm waist deep, and swim as hard and fast as I can, as far away as I can get until my lungs burn. From the swimming, or screaming into the water, I don't know.

I resurface, gasping for air. I lay on my back, closing my eyes, enjoying the feeling of the soft waves rocking me back and fourth. I could've been there for one, or ten minutes before I'm startled by a breathless, "hey".

I recognise the voice immediately, but it still startles me none the less, I quickly look toward Thomas after accidentally splashing him out of shock.

"Bloody hell, Thomas, what are you doing out here?" I question. He's shirtless. I suddenly get extremely tense, a hurricane of butterflies dancing around in my stomach. The moonlight hits his contracting, broad shoulders, as he keeps himself afloat in the water. I'm suddenly grateful for how dark it is, so that my rosey cheeks aren't so apparent, although the moonlight is surprisingly bright enough for me to admire his angelic features - his wet hair in clumps on his head from shaking the water off his face, little droplets of water cover him, all of these factors made my heart beat so loudly that I'm almost afraid he can hear it too.

"Oh, you know, just thought I'd go out for a swim." He says nonchalantly, a stupid grin plastered onto his face.

"Oh, really? Think you're a better swimmer than a runner, Tommy?" I chuckle, a great big smile spreading across my face.

"Well, there's only one way to find out!" He says, redding himself to race.

"Hey, don't forget you have an advantage - no way you can face plant while swimming!" I shout before I burst into freestyle strokes as fast as I can, heading to the shore, Thomas quickly following behind me.

After a minute of breathless swimming, I beat him to the shore, or rather until it's just our hips and legs that are submerged under the not-so-freezing-cold-water anymore, after the energetic swim. After a couple of seconds, Thomas catches up to me, slows his strokes down and stands up, both of us breathing heavily. 

"Well, played, Newt - remind me to volunteer you to be the next runner if we ever get trapped in a Glade with a water-maze" He says breathlessly, with a wild smile, shaking the water out of his hair. 

"I think you mean you'll volunteer me to be the next _swimmer"_ I remark, struggling to catch my breath again - whether it's because of the swimming, or the sight of seeing a shirtless, glowing angel standing right in front of me, no one knows.

"No need to be a smart ass about it!" He teases, reaching for my leg under the water, and pulling it to the surface, making me lose my balance and topple over. I laugh happily while submerged under the icy water - resurfacing quickly, I grab his head with both hands and pull him under - before he has a proper chance to laugh at my clumsiness. We get deeper and deeper into the water as we play-fight with each other like a couple of puppies - both of us, laughing ourselves shitless, whilst trying to get the upper hand by submerging the other under the water.

Thomas is pushing my head down underwater, I grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to push myself up, when suddenly, he let's go, and let's his arms float freely in the water. And for a split second, there we are, just staring into each others eyes, completely submerged under the water, and suddenly, there is no Safe Haven, no W.I.C.K.E.D, no Teresa, no jaw clenches or gut pangs, just us. There _used_ to be an infinite universe out there filled with infinite thoughts, ideas, beings. But now it's just Thomas, Thomas the etherial angel sculpted by god himself - even though _he_  doesn't even exist right now.

It's just Thomas, me and the screeching echo in my head telling me to hold his sharp-jawed, long eye-lashed, beauty-spotted, hazel-eyed, imperfectly-perfect face in my hands and kiss him breathless, until we both pass out from the lack of oxygen.

_And I know in this moment, that if I were to die right now, in this very moment, I would die happily, staring into the eyes of Thomas, the ethereal Angel._

So as I try and turn this split-second into a million split-seconds, I admire his reflective hazel eyes, and how they gaze into mine. I admire his parted lips, and the little air bubbles that escape them. I savour the way his chocolate hair slightly sways with the soft current, and how he looks at me, with eyes I swear I've seen him gaze at Teresa with. But I know they're not the same eyes. they can't be, because angels don't fall in love with boring, ugly, pathetic, shuck-faced Newts.

 

My cheeks are burning so much that I swear I can feel the water around us warm up. I feel a familiar aching craving for air, and it seems like he does too, because both of us resurface. We stand there for a minute, catching our breaths while the rest of the universe slowly reloads back into our lives. I know it wasn't just me who felt that. I'm certain. It was so real, I could feel the electricity travel from his veins to mine. It had to be real.

Even though I felt something, I can't bring myself to admit it to him, in fear that he didn't, and the electricity that travelled from my veins, died down when going through his.   
  
I look up at him, "Bloody cold, let's swim back"

He takes a moment to respond, staring straight at me, but with a soft gaze, it's almost like he can hear my thoughts, and I'm surprisingly okay with that.  
The corners of his mouth spread into that infamous, stupid grin of his, as he shouts,

"Race you there!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I really hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, It took a reeaally long time to write, but I've enjoyed every second of it! 
> 
> I'm really sorry it's been such a long gap between the this chapter and the first one, I have to balance school, sports and culturals on top of writing this. I've written a bit every day since the last chapter, so please don't think I'm going to drop this story if I don't post in a while.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be Thomas' POV (point of view), so get excited!
> 
> And again, if anyone's reading this, thank you for taking some time out of your day to read this amateur little fanfiction! I really did not expect to get so many hits on my last chapter, but I guess there's a lot of hype in this fandom since The Death Cure just came out :D
> 
> Thank you all again for reading! Comments, questions, suggestions, constructive criticism and all that is very much appreciated!
> 
> -Nandi


	3. Just Two, Broken Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, and I think I might be falling in love with you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This chapter is going to be from Thomas' point of view, so I hope all of you will enjoy it!  
> TW - very mild anxiety mentions.

Even though Newt beat me to the shore for the second time, I still didn't want to go back to my hammock and call it a night. I don't know why. It's like there's some sort of invisible rope tying me to Newt, and it keeps getting shorter and shorter. And the thing that surprises me the most, is that I like the fact that it keeps getting shorter.

"I hope you know that I saw you cheating" I cheekily accuse, as we both dry ourselves off before we put our clothes back on.

"Damn, you got me, Tommy, I must've forgot that swimming faster than you is against the rules" He playfully rolls his eyes as he slips into his cropped, material pants, they fit loosely, where as the elasticated ends hugs his shins tightly. He stands up from when he was leaning forward to adjust his pants, flicking his damp hair back and running his hands through it, this time it slicks back due to the moisture; instead of flopping back into it's normal beautiful, fluffy mess. He stretches slightly as he does this, eyes closed. I can't help it as my eyes wander over his slender, but toned physic - the surprisingly bright moonlight highlighting his perfect cheek bones, clenched jaw and his shirtless body, abs stretching with his arms. seeing him like this does something to me. Something I've never really felt before. I get that weird, warm sensation all over my chest as Newt stands in front of me, wearing nothing, but some underwear and loose, fitting pants. He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine for some sort of cologne advert.

_God, how does he look so beautiful, so effortlessly?_

I surprise myself by my own thoughts, why was I thinking like that? I mean, I couldn't help it. I just... _did._

Sometime's that happens to me when I'm with Newt, I get these weird stages where I can't help but admire him, or if we're touching, I can't seem to let go of him. Kind of like what happened when I first woke up here, I couldn't stop my eyes from admiring how the light hit Newt's perfectly messy, silky, blonde hair; that seemed to fall effortlessly back into place no matter how many times he'd run his hands through it. When he helped me up, I just couldn't let go of his hand, it felt like I the world would end if I did.

I don't know why I'm feeling the way I do. It doesn't scare me though, it might confuse me a bit, but I do quite like that warm sensation in my chest that he seems to cause every now and then. 

His hands fall loosely at his sides as his gaze drifts toward his shirt laying on the sandy ground from where he tossed it there earlier, before quickly looking up at me, after noticing I wasn't doing anything but staring at him like a complete and utter idiot - instead of putting my clothes on.

"What?" He asks defensively, covering his breath-taking torso by crossing his arms as his eyebrows furrow, even though his cheeks redden slightly, which make mine do the same, which makes me blush  _even more_  when I realise exactly  _how much_  this boy can do to me with just a single glance. I close my mouth, and realise I don't remember it ever hanging slightly open. 

_Great, you really were looking like an idiot, Thomas. Good job._

I quickly snap out of whatever slow-motion fantasy world I was living in for the previous few seconds and jump back into reality, muttering a,"Oh, sorry, nothing..." as I fluster around, grabbing my clothes and throwing them onto my body.

After we're both fully dressed again, Newt let's out a small sigh and says, "Well, that was fun... guess we should get back to bed then." He shrugs, and makes a quick glance toward the cabins. I can see a glint of disappointment in his eyes. Feeling that rope impatiently tugging at me again, I quickly try and make up some sort of excuse so that we can spend some more time, alone together.

"Wait, uh... I'm pretty hungry after that swim, do you wanna sneak into the kitchen and grab something to eat?" I suggest, wondering if I'm hungry for food, or hungry for something els. Surprise is covered all over Newt's face, I don't think he expected me to want to spend more time with him for some reason.

"Oh, yeah sure - I actually am a little peckish" He shrugs, reassuring himself. 

 

~~~

 

So there we are, sitting right next to each other, leaning out backs against the same boardwalk Newt and Minho's were leaning against earlier, snacking on pieces of bread torn from it's loaf - which was freshly baked this morning. If Frypan catches us, we're dead. He seems to be very protective over his bread.

"So how's your first day back in action been?" Newt asks with half his mouth filled with the soft, fluffy bread. 

"Pretty good actually, I'm still finding it hard to believe that we've finally made it here" I admit as a scratch the back of my head, "It was good to see everyone, Brenda, Frypan, Gally, Teresa...  _you_ " I admit, voice hitching slightly - hopefully not enough for him to notice.

Newt's lips form a warm smile, "It was good to see you back too, I was getting tired of listening to your snoring" He chuckles.

"Oh, come on, I do  **not** snore!" I say defensively, but the " _yes, yes you totally do_ " look on Newt's face seems to tell me otherwise. "I do not!" I repeat, admittedly, laughing a little as I defend myself.

"Well... if you say so..." Newt shrugs, grinning at me with a mouth full of laughter he's trying to hold back.

"You wouldn't have to hear me snore if you didn't watch me while I slept!" I exclaim playfully. Newt instantly blushes again, and opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself, unable to find the right words. He gaze shifts down, to his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

"I... I just w-wanted to make sure you were okay..." He shyly admits. He laughs a little, but I can tell it's filled more with sadness, rather than joy, "I bet you wouldn't have minded if Teresa did that" He says, as if he's talking to himself... almost... punishing himself in some sort of way? I sense the disappointment in his tone, and I'm sure I would've seen it in his beautiful, brown eyes too, if they weren't lost, staring down at his hands. I instantly regret saying what I did, seeing the effect it had on him, it obviously seemed as if Newt, himself, thought it was weird that he looked after me while I was sleeping. 

"Wait, what? No, Newt I'm just joking around. If anything, I actually think it's kind of sweet that you made sure I was alright. Means a lot to know that you care about me that much" I mean every word I say, as I attempt to cheer him up. He smiles a little, sadness still detectable in his expression as he looks up at me. "And Teresa doesn't even have anything to do with this, I think it would be a little weird if  _she_  was the one watching me" I admit, now that I think about it.

"Oh, come on Thomas, no, you wouldn't - think about it, you both have feelings for each other, you both ha-"

"Wait, what?!" I interrupt Newt as I half-laugh, half-exclaim in disbelief, "You can't just go around making assumptions like that..." I say sheepishly.

I've always felt something with Teresa, and she has too. This kind of electricity that's built up, but as we were lying together on that blazing building, awaiting our untimely deaths, we kissed. And it felt wrong. Like we just did it because we thought we should do it, because it was the only thing we could do. And I'm sure she felt the same way - even though we haven't talked about it since. Our non-existent love was something expected. Just because she was the only girl in the Glade, just because I was the only boy she knew. But you can't force-fit two puzzle pieces that don't belong together. And that's what it felt like. I came to the conclusion that we are just meant to be close friends. That going further would ruin things for the both of us. And I'm satisfied with that. 

"Bullshit, everyone in the Safe Haven knows it, and you've only been up for a shucking day" He remarks, his finger poking my chest. My body relishes the sudden contact, wanting more of it - but I ignore the feeling for now.

"Well, then they're believing in something that's not true," Newt's expression changes to something of astonishment as soon as I utter those words, "I don't know... things just, feel...  _wrong_  if we try go further than just close friends" I admit, suddenly noticing the cold breeze softly brushing against my arms.

"Oh... I guess, I just thought after hearing you guys tonight, I... sorry for assuming things..." He apologises genuinely, glancing at me with a slight hint of confusion in his expression.  

"You heard us?" I ask, slightly embarrassed, "I was trying to get her to bed, she had a little too much to drink" 

"Sounded like you did too" He remarks, a small grin forming at the corners of his mouth. 

"I took like one sip of whatever that vomit-water was" I chuckle, "I just didn't want to ruin her night, so I played along with her drunkeness"

Newt suddenly looks at me with a stern look on his face, "Don't ever pretend to be something you're not around someone just to please them."

I want to tell him that he must listen to his own advice, because I swear he's stopped himself from saying so many things tonight, that it would probably add up to more than what he's actually said out loud. I know he's not okay. He just won't tell me who's making him feel this way. If I knew who, I'd beat the son of a bitch until they couldn't walk anymore. I swear I would, just to make Newt happy. 

But I don't say that, instead, I slowly nod my head in agreement, staring at the calm, dark waves collapsing over and over onto the sandy shore.

Newt leans his head against the boardwalk like he did earlier tonight, or yesterday. I can't tell, because time seems to fly twice as fast when I spend time with Newt. I wish it would seem twice as slow, so I could observe the way his lips form his perfectly accented words, or how he runs his hands through his effortless, messy hair, or how he looks at me with those deep, forest eyes that make me want to stop eating my bread because my stomach is now filled with butterflies.

 

Remembering Newt and Minho being here earlier, resurfaces the curiosity I was feeling when observing their conversation, even though I couldn't here shuck-all, because of Teresa, Frypan and Gally's constant giggling and screaming, and the happy conversations surrounding the fire by the everybody els. Just watching Newt blink himself mad trying to chase away his tears, and Minho's concerned expression for him got my fists clenched, ready to punch the life out of whoever is making him feel this way. 

I hate it when Newt's sad. It's like as soon as I notice that he is, it becomes my life mission to make him happy again. It's part of the reason I went down to swim with him, so I could cheer him up. The other part was certainly not so I could see his heavenly, nearly naked body swimming gracefully in the water. No siree.

 

"Hey, what were you and Minho talking about earlier? You seemed pretty down" I ask curiously, with a slight hint of concern in my voice, "I mean, if it was a personal conversation, don't feel obligated to tell me. I just... I could tell you were down, and I don't want you to feel like that" I quickly add, hoping I'm not coming off too forcefully.

He clears his throat nervously, contemplating which words to use before he speaks. "Oh, uh, I was just feeling a little off today, that's all." He says as his mind wanders back to his and Minho's conversation, "Don't worry about me. Really, I mean it." his deep, brown, moonlit eyes connect to mine like a magnet as he utters out the last part. I can tell he's lying, even though he puts up a pretty good act, I just know he is. But I don't push him. 

He reaches to take another piece of bread from the small heap in front of us, and I've never felt the rope pull so strongly, because I suddenly connect my hand with his, smoothly interlocking our fingers, and I cant help but notice how his soft, warm hands fit like the perfect puzzle piece to mine. A puzzle that was never meant to be taken apart in the first place.  _A puzzle that was never even meant to be a puzzle_ , but we are all broken, and rough on the edges from what we've been through. So I come to the happy conclusion that we're just two broken, puzzle pieces that for some reason, seem to fit each other perfectly.

I look up from out interlocked hands to find Newt staring at me, a shocked expression on his face, and his cheeks - an undoubtably a rosey shade of red, and just the sight of him makes my heart pound so hard, I can feel it's beat vibrate through my entire body. I restrain my face to a serious expression, "Newt, I want you to know you can always talk to me if you're feeling down. Even if you're not, and you just want to talk complete shit about how much you hate Frypan's stew. I'll always be listening, because I... I like listening to you, and... hearing your stupid accent." I blurt out the last part, internally smacking myself for admitting something so embarrassing. Newts cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red, which seemed impossible a couple of seconds ago.

His gaze shifts to the ground, his now-dry, silky hair covering his eyes as he looks down, "Thanks, Tommy, means a lot coming from you..." The mention of my nickname that belongs to him, and only him, makes my heart flutter like a million butterflies swarming around in my chest. I swear I can see the corners of his mouth turn up into a happy grin. 

"Hey, hey look at me - I'm being serious" I say, as I temporarily let go of his hand, admittedly, missing the warmth and comfort of holding it, and shift my position to sit on my knees, "Come here, I want to show you something" Newt quickly looks up at me and changes to the same position, facing me, knees gently touching mine, with a curious look on his face. 

"This is a trick my..." I struggle to remember who exactly taught me this. I can't - the fog is too thick to see through, "well, I _think_ my mom taught me this when I was a kid - I think that sometimes, I'd get really nervous over something small, I wouldn't be able to control my breathing, or I'd cry uncontrollably because I'd bottle things up for so long" I stare harshly into nothing in particular, trying to recall the memories that W.C.K.D stole from me, hiding somewhere in the now-destroyed research building. "...and doing this would really calm me down" I look up a Newt to see him searching my eyes for what I'm about to tell him. I grasp both of his hands and hold them between us as I slip one of my knees in between his, bringing us even closer together. Newt lets out a small gasp because of the unexpected contact and tenses a bit, unsure of what I'm about to do. "I want you to close your eyes and try keep your mind free from any thoughts, okay?" With a little hesitations, Newt does what he's told, but it doesn't look as if his mind is being freed by the way his eyebrows are furrowed. "Now I'm going to count down from ten, and every time I do, you're going to think of a happy memory we share, okay?" Newt gives me a small nod. "Okay, here we go..."

"Ten"

I bring myself back to the first time I ever met Newt, when he was teasing me for clumsily falling over while running away from the other Gladers, like they were all out to murder me. 

"Nine"

I remember Newt sitting down next to me while I was alone, trying to remember anything before the maze on the day I'd arrived, the great blazing bonfire roaring behind us. I remember looking into his deep, forest brown eyes and feeling the first warm sensation spread throughout my entire chest, flowers blooming in the pit of my stomach. I remember tying an invisible rope from my heart to his, and internally promising that I'll never untie it.

"Eight"

I remember all the times Newt's made me laugh, and how good it feels to laugh with him, how the laughter fills every hollow space inside me, how it makes me feel as if the only thing we have left to worry about is gulping in more air so we can laugh even more.

"Seven"

I realise that I'm not the one that's supposed to be recalling happy memories, but it feels good, so I shove the thought away and put my forehead to Newt's. I can feel his body loosen as he leans into me, squeezing my hands for reassurance. I squeeze back.

"Six"

I remember when the Flare was slowly taking over Newt, as he angrily pushed me against the wall of the room where we were discussing how we'd use Teresa to get Minho back. I remember how close we were and how silent everything felt, even though he was shouting so loudly that his lungs started to give in for a second. I remember feeling guilty and unsure if what he was saying actually had some truth to it, but I also remember thinking how soft and gentle his lips looked up close, and wondering how they'd taste if they were placed on mine.

"Five"

I slowly open my eyes to see that his are gently closed, his expression - now calm, lips slightly parted. It takes all my strength to stop myself from cupping his beautiful face in my hands and kiss him with all our shared feeling and memories still floating around in our heads.

"Four"

I close my eyes, afraid I'll give in to the rope tugging on my lips so they'll connect with his. This has never felt so real before. I swear I can feel our hearts beating in unison. It's so clear now. Before I could push the thought away if I tried hard enough, ignore it for just a little longer. But I can't anymore. I can't hide my feelings from the cheeky, messy-haired, sharp-tongued angel sitting in front of me. 

"Three"

I don't remember anything, because I want to remember this moment, right now, store it somewhere so safe in my head, so that if W.C.K.D were to wipe my mind again, they wouldn't be able to erase the memory of right now. I feel Newt's hot breath tickling my nose, and I quickly breath in, aching to feel more. Aching to feel more of him. But I stop myself, and furrow my eyebrows in frustration.

"Two"

I hear a small sniffle, and feel Newt's head move a little from where it rests perfectly on mine. I open my eyes to see gentle streams of salty water run down his undeniably adroable cheeks and land in cold blotches on our interlocking hands.

"...One"

Newt slowly opens his eyes, an expression of sadness, anger, sorrow, jealousy and complete and utter pain is written in every slope, and corner of his face. I feel my heart shattering into a million pieces just by looking at him. My chest is filled with a cold, painful pang of sympathy, as I quickly bring my hand up to cup his face and gently wipe away a tear before it rolls further down his angelic face. I stare into his teary, red eyes, and I can feel the pulsing electricity connect from my veins to his, because I swear I can feel every ounce of pain and suffering he's experiencing, so much that I'm struggling to breath because his breath is shaking, like I can't survive without him. I begin to hate myself for not looking out for him sooner, for not holding his hand sooner, for not wiping away his tears sooner. I begin to hate myself for being such a godawful friend.

_How does he look so breath-taking, even when he's crying?_

Newt struggles to swallow, and chokes out, "I'm s-so sorry, Tommy, y-you shouldn't have to see me like th-this. Sometimes it just-just gets too much you kn-know?" He stutters on his strangled voice, and I feel each and every syllable stab me in the gut as, I attempt to imagine what kind of hell this kid goes through every fucking day, and how much I deserve to actually be stabbed for now knowing about it sooner, for not helping him sooner.

"Hey, hey, don't apologize" I say, trying to reassure him, "It's okay to not be okay, you don't always have to be the cheeky, cool, calm and collected Newt you are when you're around everyone" I whisper, desperately searching for anything but pain in his eyes. I want to tell him that he's perfect the way he is, and he shouldn't ever bottle himself up anymore, that he can tell me anything he wants to, and I'll always be there to listen to him, that he means the world to me and that all I want to do is make him feel okay, and that if I could, I'd take all his pain away from him and make myself feel it just so he could be alright. 

But I don't. 

Instead, I pull him closer, cross my legs and let him lay down on my lap, facing up at me, his legs stretched out toward the ocean. I gently run my hands through his hair, soft and silky, just I'd imagined it to be, and lay down with him, his head, gently resting on my chest as we both look up at the stars in silence, because we didn't need to fill the space with pointless conversation, when it was already filled with deep, unforgiving emotions, pain-filled tears and pulsing electricity. I take his hand and interlock our fingers, silently promising to never let go.

Gradually, I can feel Newt's shivers and sniffs subside, and his irregular, sharp inhales calm into deep, relaxed breaths. I watch his chest rise and fall in magnificent harmonisation with his breaths. Then, and only then, do I let myself drift off to sleep with him.

I let myself drift off to a universe free from all the pain and suffering trapped in Newt's mind, and silently whisper to his calm, sleeping self, "You're going to be okay, Newt. Even if it takes an entire lifetime, I'll never stop being here for you. I can promise you that"

"...Oh, and I think I might be falling in love with you" I decide to add, might as well say it out loud if he's not really here to hear it.

I thought I could feel a wide smile pressed against my chest for a second as I passed the border between consciousness and sleep, but there's no way Newt could've been awake to hear that. No siree.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I really enjoyed making this chapter and getting to know Thomas more as a character. Sorry, again for such a long gap between posts, but remember, if I every let this story go, I'll be sure to tell you about it (Not that I'm going anywhere soon!)
> 
> Comments are really appreciated, they give me that extra oomph and motivate me to start work on the next chapter!
> 
> Last time I posted notes after the chapter, for some reason, it reposted the notes I had put in for the previous chapter AND the ones I had put in then, so hopefully it doesn't do that this time... 
> 
> That's it from me though, thank you again for reading!
> 
> -Nandi


	4. Crying Makes Me Sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes - I think it would just be easier to just let go. That it would be easier to just fall endlessly through the giant black hole, let myself get sucked in, because feeling nothing would be better than feeling this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I'm so so so sorry for not updating in over two weeks - I've been super busy with school, and on top of that, two drafts that I'd been working on of this chapter got deleted, which completely bulldozed all of my progress and left me pretty unmotivated to start all over again - however, after rewriting this chapter multiple times, I think the quality of it has really improved - so I guess it's kind of a blessing in disguise.
> 
> So this chapter has a really heavy focus on Newt and how he thinks, there is some implied suicide, so this is a trigger warning to anyone who's sensitive to that kind of thing. 
> 
> Anyways - if anyone's still reading this after I've abandoned all of you for so long, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I put a lot of effort into it!

My sleepless eyes trace the sharp, inconsistent dark cracks that run along the white and yellow stained ceiling high above me. I trace each one with careful eyes, following the paths they cross and the other dark, inconsistent cracks they join. It reminds me of raindrops dripping down a car window. I don’t know why. I haven’t ever seen it - at least from the Maze till now. I guess it’s just another connectionless memory, floating around aimlessly somewhere in my brain. It feels like a spiderweb with some strings missing, taken away - empty spots on the web left behind. Left with just the hollow recollection of knowing they used to be there. No memories attached to the memory. Strange. Emptying. Like silence.

And silence is deadly. Deadly because if you’re consumed by it, you start to believe you’re deaf - just because there’s nothing else to believe. just because there’s nothing to silence it. Nothing around to silence your silence.

I feel a layer of water glossing over my eyes, a dull sting accompanying it. I keep them open though, letting the salty water collect and overflow in cool streams down the sides of my face. Because unlike most times, I don’t have to try and furiously blink them away, shove them into an already-overflowing cupboard. No one’s here to see me cry. So I relish the rare peace it brings.

I lose focus on the ceiling cracks, as the tears have blurred my vision. Now, having nothing to focus on, I close my eyes instead - pushing out the remaining tears, and letting them gently roll down my cheeks.

Sleep comes easily this time around. Consuming every inch of my body within a few minutes. Crying makes my sleepy.

 

 

_I stare aimlessly out a car window. It’s raining. Small, bubble-like raindrops race to the bottom of the smooth glass, leaving a watery trail behind them. A few drops rapidly fall at the same time as the car shakes a bit from driving along the old, patched up, tar road._

_The road grabs my attention, a sense of familiarity filling my conscious, heightening my senses. I shift my focus from the gently falling raindrops to the yellow, faded lines outlining the edge of the grey tar road, different shades of tar sticks out a bit from previous potholes - a few messy patch ups. The bumpy ride feels normal, almost comforting._

_I shift my gaze upward. The first thing that grabs my attention are the buildings. Mostly single or double story. Behind a lonely, cracked grey sidewalk - the worn down, roofless, interconnected buildings stand with an uneasy feeling of emptiness, like abandoned, hollow shells. Dried up stains of brownish liquid and decaying vines cover and snake around them._  
_Although there is no clear indication, such as a sign showing what the buildings are used for - for some reason, I just feel it in my gut - the small building with large, dirty glass windows is a clothing shop, and the long, open concrete building is for a mechanic. I recognise most of the buildings without actually recognising them. Large, faded signs on the buildings and on the streets are blurred. Out of focus. I squint my eyes and lean slightly forward, If I could just get a little closer - they’re just out of my reach._  
_“Isaac!” I feel a small, cold hand pulling on my arm. I snap my face toward the high-pitched, child-like voice, thick with an accent similar to mine. I feel my stomach turning and chest tightening as bile rises in my throat. My mind instantaneously sounds an alarm of panic as fear spins round in my head in relentless tornados._

_There, sitting before me is a small child with fair, pale skin and a thin figure. Her messy blonde hair falls down her shoulders in two plaits._

_But she has no face. Instead, to fill the space, a swirling whirlwind of grainy skin morphs in inconsistent directions on her face. She has no expression - she can’t have any._

_I quickly pull away and corner myself in my seat, frantically searching the car for a way out, I pull at the door handle - but to no avail. I’m locked in. Trapped._

_“Where are you going, honey?” The soft, yet sinister voice rings a bell in my head, not loud enough to overcome the deafening panic though. It comes in ominous echoes from the passenger’s seat. Another blonde, but mature - around 50 or so. Her hair is slightly curlier compared to the little girl’s, it lays in a knotted mess on her shoulders._

_I feel my throat closing in as I see her morphing, grainy, blank face match the little girl’s. My_  
_My head darts around the black-leather seated car. I see short, messy light brown hair in the driver’s seat in front of me. All three of them turn to face me at once, thousands of short, gut wrenching whispers fill my ears. I try to scream, but a wall stops from coming through at the back my throat. I shake violently, trying push myself further into the corner of the seat, wishing and pleading to escape. I can barely make out the whispers, “Isaac”, “Don’t ---- remember us?”, “Haha---ha”, “Isaac”, “Isaac”_

_‘Isaac’ Repeating over and over in my head like a mantra, the name consumes me. It won’t stop. I can’t think. I can’t see. Turning pages. Dad. Just Isaac. Every page - Isaac. Stop. Mum. Lizzy. No escape. I can’t breath. Help. I can’t breath._

 

 

My eyes burst open as I frantically sit up in my hammock - covered in a cold sweat. Quick, hot breaths travel through my desert throat. I focus on my hands - fingers shaking with my breath. I count to ten. 4 memories are of Thomas. 3 of Minho and Alby. 2 of the Glade. 1 - I can’t think of anything. I settle on how the sunset sunk between the walls - just at that perfect moment in the Glade.

My breath has steadied. I slowly open my eyes and look around - a little panic rising in my chest, hoping I haven’t woken anyone up. A cool sense of relief floods through me as all I can see are closed eyes, unconscious bodies and the soft swaying of hammocks.

I look to my right and find Thomas’ angelic, sleeping body in the hammock next to me, facing toward me, laying on his left shoulder - his long, butterfly eyelashes hanging down from his gently closed eyes. Just the sight of him makes my heart warm, I smile to myself at the thin stream of drool escaping from the corner of his parted lips. His hair is in a mess of cocoa clumps on his head - he is absolutely breathtaking in every way imaginable.  
I don’t know how long I admire his magnificent features for. A minute? Ten minutes?  
I quickly snap out of it though. Realising how creepy I am for staring at an unconscious Tommy. The memory of him teasing me for watching him while he slept flashes back into my mind - I remember how my cheeks immediately turned an undeniable shade of bright pink out of pure embarrassment. Not wanting to repeat it, I avert my gaze, focusing on my hands again, fingers fiddling with one another.

This has been the fifth night in a row. The fifth night of the same, repeating nightmare. The fifth night of waking up breathless, wrapped in a blanket of cold sweat. The fifth night since the gentle rise and fall of Thomas’ chest sent me off to a world of blissful sleep. I miss the feeling.

I don’t want to go back to sleep - don’t want to risk slipping into the relentless, untameable thoughts in the deepest, hidden corners of my mind again. Hastily running a shaken hand through my sweat-matted hair, I contemplate my options: go back to sleep, or don’t. I settle on the latter and quietly hop off my hammock. Walking silently, I make my way towards the exit, carefully snaking through slowly swaying hammocks and sleeping bodies. The exit covers about an entire wall’s length of the room - giant makeshift curtains made up of various kinds of material patched up together drape over the wall-less opening. Five or six sway gently in the breeze, providing some sort of protection from the calm weather. I mean, we don’t need much. It’s too hot to sleep inside, so the small gaps between the floor and the curtains provide some sort of ventilation. I pull one of the mismatched curtains aside and look over my shoulder one last time before making my exit - ensuring that I haven’t woken anyone. Thankfully - I haven’t, because all I can see in the fairly large, homely room are seemingly lifeless bodies resting on the thick fabric of their hammocks sturdily tied to the tall, metal pillars supporting the building.

The only proof that anyone’s alive is the soft lull of steady breaths and quiet snores. The cool toned light emitting from strings of tiny light bulbs hang around the room, weaving in between the pillars to always provide a small amount of light. It comforts me to know they’re always lit. I don’t really know why.

I gently duck my head as I pull myself through the curtain and step outside, immediately running my hand through my hair - welcoming the refreshing, midnight breeze.

I make my way round the back of the safe house, the bright moon providing just enough light to allow me to squint my eyes and avoid any potential obstacles. I trace my fingers along the concrete back wall of the safe haven - then I feel the rusted, metal door graze my fingertips. I search for a second or two, trying to grab ahold of the handle - then slowly pull it out minimising it’s ominous creaking sounds.

As I step inside, my nose is filled with scents of dust and varnished wood. Over the past few days, I’ve learnt to welcome these smells as calming ones - comforting ones. My right hand immediately reaches out and searches the wall for a light switch. Once found, I flick up the grimy switch and watch the orange-yellow hued lights flicker on and off a few times before settling into a constant, warm glow - emitting a soft, dull buzzing noise in the process. The rounded lightbulbs are connected to a long string of black wire, snaking in and out of the roof supports in various places. The corners of the fairly small room are filled with wooden crates and cardboard boxes - some covered in white sheets. Books, torches, jars, containers and other miscellaneous items line the layers of metal shelves and lay on top of some of the crates.

Nearing the right hand side of the rectangular room, a dark wood, thin legged desk with two small drawers stands proudly - facing the wall in front of me. Small, detailed patterns are engraved into the wood, accentuating it’s ancient aesthetic. The desk face is strewn with papers, books, pens and pencils. A thin, metal lamp sits on the top corner of the desk.

Leaning against the left hand wall of the room, lays a 3-seater, brown leather couch. It sticks out like a sore thumb in the cosy room - makes me wonder if it was just put here because no one knew where else to put it. But I’m still grateful for it nonetheless - I have ended up sleeping here once or twice.

I instantly gravitate toward the desk, pulling out it’s matching, thin legged wooden chair and take a seat. Clearing up my space a bit, I grab a pen and paper. Then everything comes flooding back.

 

~~~

 

3 March 2018 - Saturday 3:37am  
Dear Tommy

 

_I had the nightmare again tonight. It’s getting harder and harder to cope with it. I’m losing a lot of sleep - barely had a wink over the past few days._

_I just keep seeing them in my dreams. Hearing them. Names - just repeating over and over in my head like a broken record player - ‘Lizzy’, ‘mum’, ‘dad’, ‘Isaac’. I don’t know how to make it stop. I just want to make it stop._

_I’ve always wanted to remember them - always wanted to remember my family. But not like this. Not in terrifying flashes of faceless voices and neverending echoes. I don’t even know if it’s actually them - or if my mind has just reached an entirely new level of insanity._

_It hurts, Tommy. It hurts so bloody much because I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve always had a set plan, I’ve always thought rationally, but now it’s like I’m lost in the Maze again, and this time there’s really no way out._

  
_There’s always been the emptiness at the back of my mind - this hollow shell that nothing could fill. I know in my heart that that empty space was meant to be there for memories. Memories of my life before the maze. But there were none. There are none._

 _The emptiness feels like a black hole, Tommy. And it’s trying to suck me in._  
_Sometimes - it’s easy to hold on. I can hoist myself up - sit on a ledge and enjoy the view. But other times it’s a lot harder. I’m holding on so tight, Tommy. So tight. But every now and then a finger slips. And I’ve only got so many left to hold me up._

_Sometimes - I think it would just be easier to just let go. That it would be easier to just fall endlessly through the giant black hole, let myself get sucked in, because feeling nothing would be better than feeling this._

_I’m scared. I’m scaring myself with the thought. I shouldn’t want to let go, but sometimes I do. I shouldn’t want to regret not jumping far enough from the wall of the glade, but sometimes I do. I can’t help it, Tommy. I just do._

_But I’m still holding on. I’m holding on for the Safe Haven, I’m holding on for Minho. I’m holding on for Alby and Chuck and I’m holding on for you. Because you’re the only one that has ever been able to fill that empty space with warmth and butterflies. So many butterflies, Tommy. Butterflies that flutter around in my heart and turn my cheeks red._

_You’ve saved my life, Tommy. So many more times than you could ever imagine. God knows I would’ve tried to jump off that wall a second time if it weren’t for you._

_And I’ve never even thanked you for it. And I know I’m a terrible person for that. I haven’t thanked you because then I’d have to explain why. I haven’t even told you about the wall, about my leg. Maybe I never will. I think it’s better that way. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to feel pain that only I should be going through, because I have to deal with it, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing I’ve made you feel as horrible as I’m feeling right now._

_I guess that’s why i’m writing letters to you that you’re never going to end up reading._

_Maybe you actually are going to read this one day. Maybe by that time, I’ve already let go. If I have - I guess you should know that I love you, and that’s not just a meaningless confession. I’ve loved you for a long time now. I’ve just always buried it down - ignored it by distracting myself with something - anything, the Glade, the Scorch, W.C.K.D, Chuck, Alby, Winston, anything. But I can’t ignore it anymore. It’s not that easy you know - loving a shank like you. The only thing left to do is just make sure you never know - make sure I don’t ruin things between us. I love you more than I remember I have anyone and anything before, Tommy. And it kills me a little everyday to know you’ll never feel the same way._

_But that’s okay. I’m okay. It’ll all be okay._

_With love_  
_~Newt_

 

~~~

 

  
I slowly sign off the letter, only realising I’m crying once I see salty tears land in cold blotches onto the paper, some of the ink leaking into the liquid. I can feel redness on my stuffy nose as I sniff.

I’m hurting. My heart aches as if it’s tired of beating. But it feels good, it feels good to cry. I don’t particularly know why - it kind of just feels like letting all the bottled up feelings free. It hurts, but it’s almost a nice kind of hurt.

It’s not a noisy cry, nor a particularly messy one - I’m not forcing any emotions out, more just letting them gently strain through. I think about what I’ve written. How I sound like I’m asking for validation - for Thomas to feel sorry for me. But I’m not. Every single word messily written onto the ink-stained page is true. A messy, jumbled up collection of my thoughts and wishes. All true.

I pull myself back into reality, and with a shaky hand, I reach for the left hand drawer, and under a couple of papers and cards, I retrieve a rusted, blue metal box around the size of my hand. I lift up the metal latch keeping the lid connected to it and reveal a collection of small, folded pieces of paper. The box is filled with my poems, drawings, letters, all sorts of writing pieces I’ve kept with me all the way from the Glade, kept with me all the way through the Scorch and the City - till here. With shaking hands, I place the box on the table, grab the corners of my letter and carefully fold it twice over. I then put the folded letter drenched in overwhelming emotions inside the box, close it, then bury it back under the sea of clutter in the left hand drawer.

I sit there for a while. I don’t know how long. One arm lying horizontally bent on the table, and the other - pinching the bridge of my nose. I contemplate what I’ve written, grabbing ahold of myself again as I let the streams of tears running down my face slowly dry up, only the dried up ghost of an outline left imprinted on my cheeks is left. My mind stills for a moment. A moment that stretches into a few more moments.

  
~~~

  
I’m rudely awoken by my forehead hitting hard against some sort of hard surface. Grasping my face in my hands and grunting from the pain - I realise it’s the surface of the wooden desk. I must’ve fallen asleep on my arm - and it gave in.

I let out a frustrated moan and I rub my forehead, annoyed at myself for falling asleep at the desk. I couldn’t help it really - crying makes me sleepy.

I instinctively turn my head around to face the small, round clock hanging just above the door behind me. The thin, black hands read somewhere around 5:58. A little excitement fills my stomach as I see a pale light shine through the bottom crack of the door.  
I’m going to catch the sunrise.

  
I tread across the cool sand in long strides, wanting to get to my desired destination as quickly as possible. The brightening sky leaves a cool, fresh undertone on the endless beach stretching out to either sides of the horizon.

I tip-toe as fast and quietly as I can through the sleeping dormitory, making my way toward my hammock and searching through the jumbled heap of blankets and clothes in the box underneath it. I settle for an oversized hoodie to shield me from the chilly morning air nipping at my skin and quickly throw it on as I turn around to make my way back outside. I stop dead in my tracks as I hear a strained whisper.

“Hey, Newt!”

I turn back round to face where the voice came from - even though I know exactly who it is already. I pull my head through the hoodie and meet his magnificent half-asleep gaze, my hair in a ruffled mess. I run my hands through it and walk towards him, a little  
guilt building up in my chest - I didn’t mean to wake him.

“What?” I half whisper, half chuckle back, amused by how urgent his whisper out to me was.

“Where are you going and --where have you been all night” He questions me, little frowns forming on his forehead, matching his curious expression.

“I’m going to watch the sunrise…” I pause, purposefully ignoring his second question while simultaneously wondering if he’ll be interested in joining me, not wanting to be turned down. Fuck it. “come join me, it’ll be beautiful” I ask as I glance around the room, hoping no one else has woken up from our quiet conversation.

My heart skips a beat seeing the warm, genuine smile gradually spreading across his face as he gives me a simple nod in response and hops off his hammock. I’m flooded with a cool sensation of relief as we both leave the sleeping dorms together.

 

~~~

 

“Hey, sorry for waking you up” I apologize as I pick the grainy grass covering the steep hill like a blanket.

“Oh, don’t apologize - I was up for a while… just… thinking I guess” Thomas shrugs, his hands holding each other as his arms wrap around his bent knees angled away from each other as he sits, mere centimeters away from me.

I’m hit with a small wave of curiosity. What in god’s name was Thomas thinking about at six in the morning?

“Well, what was on your mind?” I ask gently, not trying to force him in anyway. I glance towards him, silently asking for eye contact, studying his concentrated expression.

He connects his gaze with mine and opens his mouth to say something, but stops. His eyes going back and forth between the ground and mine. “Just uh…” His eyes slow around my lips - I think - I mean he was probably just looking at my hoodie or something. He then quickly meet my eyes again, “stuff I guess…” He averts his gaze and stares blankly at his knees, lets out a small cough and carries on, “you know - just about Vince and the meeting we’re all having later today” he blurts out, making hand gestures to mask the fact that he’s lying straight to my face. The question is, I just don’t know what about.

“Bullshit” I chuckle - not afraid to let him know I can see straight through him.

“What?” He asks in disbelief - eyebrows furrowing.

“You heard me,” a mischievous smile spreads throughout my face, “Bullshit!” I declare, poking his leg, “C’mon, Tommy, you might as well write, “I’M LYING” In big, red letters on your forehead - if you don’t want to tell me about it, don’t worry okay? I don’t want you to ever feel pressured to do something like that for me, alright? Just don’t go about makin’ up lies...” I keep our eye contact steady, making sure he understands every word that leaves my mouth.

He shakes his head a little, cheeks turning a slight shade of red once he internally admits to my accusations. “No - it’s not… I’ve just been thinking about -” He suddenly interrupts himself and his train of thought by quickly lifting his gaze toward the horizon. I instinctively shift my gaze as well and immediately lose any train of thought I once had as well.

Brilliant pink and purple hues fade outward in stunning layers from the blinding yellow-white sun that has just peeked over the sea. Fluffy clusters of clouds soak in the warm, baby pink hues gradually rippling outwards in waves - mixing into the rest of the light blue sky. The magnificent mixture of tones and colours reflect their light on the world in front of them, the sea - glistening in shades of brilliant purple, the light hitting the sand in magnificent, cool hues, the safe haven captures the sunrise beautifully, drenching itself in the mixture of cool and warm tones.

But the most breathtaking sight of all, is Thomas. His fixated gaze on the horizon welcomes tidal waves of pink and purple highlights, wrapping his spotted skin in an angelic glow - his magnificent forest eyes reflecting the sunrise like a mirror are occasionally accompanied by the fluttering of his long, dark butterfly eyelashes. The beautiful bright light cascades down his flawless cheekbones and strong jaw, sending ripples of light and shadow throughout his entire body, defining the strong arms that hold his knees together. I get lost in the way his lips are slightly parted in awe of the sunrise.

His eyes, like magnets, connect with mine again. And all of a sudden, I feel a pulse of golden energy connect through our gazes, from our fingertips and through our lips. I feel it. It’s undeniable. And it takes every ounce of willpower in me to not cup his adorably innocent, angelic face in my hands and feel the way his soft lips move and taste against mine.

My cheeks turn an undeniable shade of red when I swear I catch his eyes dart up from my lips to meet my eyes. Embarrassed, I run my hand through my hair and avert my gaze back to the sunrise. I can still feel his soft gaze on me.

“Damn.” He pauses, still facing me “Never seen anything so beautiful” he whispers, barely pronouncing his words. I glance toward him, confused as to why he was looking at me, rather than the sunrise.

“I told you so, sunrises are always breathtaking” I say, feeling my cheeks heating up as I glance towards him - the electricity has never felt this powerful.

He smiles at the ground and quietly laughs to himself - like he knows something I don’t, “Yeah” he pauses for a second, then meets my gaze, “it’s the sunrise that’s beautiful”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeahhh... I mean, I think we all know that Thomas wasn't reaaally talking about the sunrise *wink wink*, but Newt is obviously keeping his expectations as low as possible and doesn't even think that Thomas could be talking about him :(
> 
> So this was quite a hectic chapter, I really enjoyed sharing aspects of how Newt thinks, perceives the world and how he thinks other people view him. There are a few of aspects - in terms of Newt's thinking that I can relate to, so I do have a bit of an attachment to him as a character, because I see a little piece of myself in him - not entirely though, just certain aspects. 
> 
> I genuinely really enjoyed writing this chapter though, and hopefully the next one will come out soon! Comments are greatly appreciated - so please let me know how you feel about this chapter!
> 
> With love  
> ~Nandi
> 
>  
> 
> (see what I did there?)


	5. I Fucking Hate You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that’s how life went on, for a good while. Wake up. Force a smile. Force a joke. Drain energy I didn’t even have. See Thomas and Teresa. Feel everything. Feel nothing. Cherish the eventual numbness. Repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter after 734937 years!  
> Oh, and I know this was a while ago, but holy shit - 1000 hits?? LIKE WHAT?! 
> 
> A heart-warming thank you to everyone that has taken the time to read this little fic. Really, thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warning: this chapter contains suicidal thoughts and implied depression.

It’s getting harder. A lot harder. Just simple things. Simple things like finding the enthusiasm to get up in the mornings. Simple things like registering the humor in a joke. Simple things like eating, or taking a shower, or talking to someone.

But sometimes, it’s not so simple. It’s getting harder to control my thoughts - harder to think rationally. It’s getting harder to stop that empty space inside me from growing and growing until I become nothing but a hollow shell.

It’s getting harder to keep holding on.

 

I wouldn't be able to count the hours I’ve spent staring up at the ceiling of the sleeping dorm. Especially lately - falling asleep seams like a temporary death sentence, rather than a happy trip to dreamland. But now, getting up seems to have become it’s competing challenge. Usually - as my eyes analyse the dried stains and cracks of the aging ceiling, my mind wanders off - imagining and creating different circumstances, alternate universes - where I would live in a world that wasn’t consumed by an infinite ocean of desert. If we had a functioning society - and I would have a job, be at a university or something. There are times when I think about what would’ve happened if I’d died in the City, in the Scorch, in the Maze - wondering if it would’ve been better off that way.

There are times where I wonder about everyone else - how they think, why they are the way they are. Sometimes I think about why Gally finds comfort in order. Sometimes I think about Brenda’s hair or Vince’s beard. Sometimes I think about Alby - how he’s a natural leader. Well, how he _was_ a natural leader.

And then there are times when think about Thomas. I wonder about what it would be like to feel the blossoming warmth of his arms wrapping around me - holding me closer than I ever thought could be possible. Sometimes I imagine hearing his honey-sweet voice tell me about his dreams and his deepest thoughts. Sometimes I imagine how his lips would gently dance against mine - how they would taste. Sometimes I imagine his hot body pressed into mine - feeling his desperate breath on my neck - the feeling of my teeth nipping at his ear and my hands tangling themselves in the angel’s hair.   
  
But usually at that point, my dream world comes crashing down. I catch myself falling. Falling down and down - knowing that there won’t be anything to catch me once I hit the bottom. So, I just shove the thoughts away, burry them somewhere at the back of my mind, shove them into a blue box in the left hand drawer of a wooden desk, and pray that they don’t find their way back out again, but I knowing they always will.

But this time - I’m neither falling nor wandering. I’m just… hurting. I stare up at the ceiling - my mind not present, but not wandering, just floating somewhere in between. Like a ghost. A dull throbbing at the back of my head surfaces, my dry, cracked lips and probably swollen, baggy eyes accompanying it.

I feel like shit, and admittedly, waking up like this has begun to feel normal. I don’t have the energy to care about it anymore - I don’t have the energy to be scared of this reality.

 

I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden flooding of hot, morning sunlight into the previously cool, dark room.

“Rise n’ shine, Newt, you’re the only one still laying on your ass - everyone else is already up” The enthusiastic voice rings through my ears with a sense of familiarity.

 

_Harriet_

 

All I can manage is an annoyed, croaky moan as I rub my tired eyes with my hands - praying she’ll leave me alone, to my nonexistent thoughts again - talking to someone is the last thing I want to do right now. With a frustrated, but amused sigh, I hear her heavy-booted footsteps march towards my hammock in long strides. Just as I feel her presence directly to the left of me, my hands are being yanked up from the contact they were making with my eyes, abruptly pulling me into a sitting position.

“I said - **wake. Up.”** Her wide eyes study me, as if she’s explaining something to a child - but they quickly soften once she finishes her sentence, her expression changing into one with an undertone of concern. “Geez, Newt, you look like shit.” Her stern tone says a lot, though her furrowed eyebrows do most of the talking.

My scrunched up face relaxes a little - getting used to the morning rays. “Mornin’ to you too” I manage to croak out - the sarcastic humour quickly sinking back down my throat, harder to make jokes when you feel _and_ look like shit I guess. She doesn't laugh, nor take offence - in fact - her expression stays constant. Her soft features contrast themselves - eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed into a tight line as her deep, brown eyes study me like she’s reading a book. I might as well just have not said anything, she isn't seeming to give much of a reaction.

I’m not surprised though - I mean, I may not be able to call Harriet my closest friend, but I do know how smart she is - how good she is at reading people, so I guess her reaction was something to be expected.

“Come on, let’s get some breakfast” A warm smile spreads across her face, her voice - noticeably softer than it was a few seconds ago. Although she puts up a decent act, I know she’s just trying to make me feel comfortable enough to get up, and out of whatever limbo-headspace I was drifting in a few minutes ago. I don’t have the energy to disagree - so I respond with a simple nod of approval as I tiredly run my hand through my messy bedhead - knowing I’ll probably be better off following her suggestion, than lying here for any longer.

 

Loud chatter and the clanking of cutlery on crockery fills the fresh, morning breeze as we step outside together and join the line for breakfast, I get a few bright greetings and ‘good mornings’ from Frypan, Teresa and a few others as I walk past the wooden picnic table they all sit at - some, like Sonya and Brenda are unable to say hi, as their mouths are stuffed with eggs and toast - so they throw out enthusiastic waves instead. I chuckle and greet back, despite the sudden sinking feeling in my stomach - I’ll probably have to explain why I’d woken up so late. Again. And the thing is - I don’t have an explanation, at least not one that I can form into words.

I ignore the feeling and continue to move forward in the line, eventually, getting to the front, and assembling a small portion of eggs and half a sausage onto my plate. I earn a concerned glance from Harriet, as she notices less than half my plate is full - She quickly grabs a piece of toast and the other half of my sausage left in the giant pan, and swiftly proceeds to drop it onto my plate. I give her an annoyed glare of disapproval, cringing slightly at the thought of having to finish everything - I hate wasting food.

We both take seats next to each other at the picnic table where Gally, Aris and Brenda are having a furious debate about who _exactly_ drew a curly moustache and thick eyebrows with a permanent marker on Gally’s face as he slept - Brenda and Aris are laughing themselves breathless, banging the table and holding tight grips on their stomachs - while Gally’s face turns red with anger, although, I can spot a bit of a chuckle rising in his throat, as the corners of his mouth face upwards - a few inky remnants of the marker still smeared onto his face.

Thomas and Minho arent anywhere in sight - lately, they’ve been taking morning jogs together. Maybe if I didn’t have a shuck limp, I’d join them. Thinking back on how I’ve been feeling over the past week or two - I come to the conclusion that I probably wouldn't have.

_Why are you even considering this? Even if you didn’t screw up your leg, why would they ever want you to join them? You’d just interrupt their quality time with your incessant talking and over-sensitive personality._

“I swear, if one of you shanks even _lays a finger_ on me while I sleep again, I’ll--”

“Oh _come on_ , Gally” Brenda interrupts Gally’s open threat with a chuckle, “you gotta admit...”

“It _was_ a liiitle funny” Aris finishes off Brenda’s sentence, both with cheeky grins spreading over their faces.

Gally makes a weak attempt to mask his smile, but can’t contain it. He bursts out with laughter, the other two shortly joining him. He’s only able to let out a slow nod of agreement because the air in his lungs is already preoccupied with his uncontrollable laughter. I even hear Harriet give in a little, her chuckles adding to the thick sounds of laughter in the air.

All I can manage is a tight smile - unable to let myself fall into the current of open-mouthed smiles and careless laughter. So, instead, I poke at my eggs and begin to feel the weight of the world sinking down on my chest for no apparent reason. I glance around - no one notices, so it doesn't even matter.

 

~~~

 

The sun has reached the center of the bright, blue sky as I continue to weed the rows of proudly growing stalks of corn, beads of sweat dripping down my dirt-smeared face as I continue with my labour-intensive job - just like the one I had back in the maze, but now, it’s almost like I’ve got some sort of ‘farmer’s block’, unable to find any sort of enjoyment from the activity. Back in the glade, I would find it quite therapeutic - never getting tired of it, even though I was at it for most of the day.

I wipe the sweat collecting on my forehead with the back of my wrist, sighing in frustration - why am I suddenly hating every second of this? All I want to do is lay down and fall asleep, because it feels like every miniscule movement I make, exerts twice the amount if energy it usually takes. I feel exhausted. Mentally, and physically. I don’t want to do this anymore.

I lift my head from where the bridge of my nose fit snugly between my thumb and index finger. I spot the ethereal angel, Thomas with a beaming, open mouthed smile nearing the top of the hill which slips down to the rest of the Safe Haven. The corners of his mouth wrinkling with delight. Just the sight of him makes my heart flutter, but it quickly stops when I realise whose eyes are connected with his. Teresa’s. Her loud laughter cuts through the hot air like a knife - she grips onto his bicep for support, but instead of sliding it off after a few seconds, she keeps her hold steady.

A sharp pang of jealousy and anger hits me deep inside my gut - making my face flush red with frustration. I quickly avert my gaze, but I seem to have lost control over my eyes as they instantly flicker back to the direction of Thomas and Teresa.

Her other hand has grabbed ahold of his right bicep, she pulls herself closer to him - keeping steady eye contact. Thomas stares back at her, frozen. I spot a glint of confusion and shock in his eyes. His feet stay planted to the ground, seemingly unable to move. This doesn't seem to phase Teresa, as she smiles and giggles playfully. Thomas looks down at where her hands have slipped down to hold his. He looks up at her and--

I avert my gaze - desperately searching for anything else to fixate it on. I can’t watch. I won’t. It will break me, I know it will.

 _God, fuck. I’m so fucking embarrassing. I’m so pathetic, I’ll break down if I even see them kiss. God, Newt, you’ve let it happen. You’ve let yourself fall for someone you’ll never_ **_ever_ ** _have a fucking chance with no matter how hard you try. Fucking great. You can’t just avoid_ **_one_ ** _thing. It’s embarrassing, really. You’re pathetic. You have_ **_no_ ** _chance. You never did. Just fucking end it while you can._

I pause for a second, taking in what I just thought.

 

“ _Just fucking end it while you can”_

 

I inhale a shaken breath and blink - sending cool tears to stream down my face. Because that’s all I can manage.

 

~~~

_18 May - Monday, 2:01 am_

_Dear Tommy_

 

_Today was another day. Another day of waking up, wishing I could just crawl back, and lay down. Another day of forcing flavourless food down for the sake of not starving myself. Another day of draining whatever energy I have left by harvesting fucking corn and tomatoes. Another day spent feeling the sudden pang of jealousy in my gut, feeling the back of my throat tighten, feeling the strings in my heart get torturously ripped apart. Another day watching you fall more and more in love with Teresa. And another day feeling like the biggest shank in the existence of the universe for letting myself fall for you. Just another fucking day._

_I hate it, Tommy. I hate living. I hate everything about it._

_I hate myself. I hate the way I’m feeling. I hate my arrogance. I hate my oblivious attitude towards how lucky I am. I hate how I’m asking for validation. I hate how I hide everything, and I hate that I don’t let anything out in front of anyone anymore. I hate the fact that no one even fucking notices that I feel like I’m losing a piece of myself every day, Tommy. I hate it._

_I hate the tears dropping onto this page. I hate the sunrise. I hate this desk. I hate my hammock. And most of all - I fucking hate you._

_I want to scream at you. Throw you against the fucking wall. Punch you until you fall unconscious, till you can’t see because the blood streaming down your face has blurred your vision. I hate you for all the reasons in the world and for no reason at all._

_But I don’t hate you. Because there isn’t a reason for me to. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s my fault for falling for you - you didn't ask for it. And now, I’m blaming you for my idiotic mistake. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m feeling right now. Thoughts are jumbled, my vision is blurry._

_I don’t think I can hold on anymore, Tommy. Not much longer. I can’t keep living with my head in my arse and my mind in the stars. I’ve thought about how. I’m ready. But you just keep delaying it. Everytime you smile at me. Everytime I hear that heartwarming, so-happy-that-your-cheeks-hurt laugh, I think to myself, “just one more day”._ _And that’s how I’ve been living - walking carelessly on eggshells - just waiting for the day without your bittersweet existence filling it up._

_Maybe that’s why I think I hate you - because you keep delaying the inevitable. You fuel my life with open-toothed smiles, and your half-asleep voice and your selfless acts and your generous being and your slightly parted lips and the small stream of drool that escapes your mouth while you sleep._

_Maybe I do hate you. Deep inside. Maybe I do want to hurt you and make you cry and stain_ _purple bruises onto your skin. But god knows that I also want to hold you in my arms, cup your face in my hand and kiss you until the electricity building up inside us, overflows and strikes great bolts of lightning into the air around us. I want to protect you from the world and the world - from you, because it’s already been far too forgiving to us._

 _I hate you, Tommy. But I know that I love you more than what should be humanly possible._ _And that’s something you’ll never understand - just how much I love you. Fuck - I don’t even know if I understand it._

 _It’s just_ **_that_ ** _much_

 

_With love_

_~Newt_

 

~~~

  


And that’s how life went on, for a good while. Wake up. Force a smile. Force a joke. Drain energy I didn’t even have. See Thomas and Teresa. Feel everything. Feel nothing. Cherish the eventual numbness. Repeat.

I think Tommy notices. He keeps trying to talk to me. I keep blocking him out. It’s too hard to look at his crooked smile without admiring the way his soft lips lift up those adorable, rosey cheeks. It’s too hard to lace my hand in his when I know his belongs with Teresa’s. It’s too hard to keep smiling at him when I can feel the butterflies and flowers in my heart wilt and decay from the familiar and constant realisation that a broken and perfect puzzle piece will never fit together. And no matter how hard he tries, I’ll never be anything but a broken puzzle piece. Because of the past I can’t remember. Because of the memories I can’t recall. Because of the hollow space that only he can fill. The hollow space that’s consumed me.

 

Living each day with no reason to keep living. No one noticed. No one cared. So I figure, It doesn’t even matter if I stop - if I let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very heavy chapter, I know, but I thought it was definitely necessary to write. I hope it didn't come out forced, but obviously Newt's depression has worsened drastically. 
> 
> I'd like to think this is more because of how hollow he feels from not being able to recall anything from his past, as memories are something he treasures a lot more than most people, they are a safe space he can go to when he's feeling trapped in his own thoughts, and with the absence of them, and because he's not in some sort of crisis to distract him from his own, toxic thoughts - that hollowness is eating away at him again, like it did before, in the Glade. I think the jealously and the self-doubting thoughts that involve Thomas, definitely affect and play a big role in worsening his thoughts and condition, but it isn't the root cause. 
> 
> But yeah, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter - gonna start working on the next one straight after I post this! 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and if you're curious as to what I look like for whatever reason - instagram is @ananda.saravanja - my account is private, and I hardly ever go though my requests, so just drop me a DM, also so I know who's read my stuff. (Oh, and keep this fic on the down low, literally no one in my personal life knows about this lol)
> 
> Anyways, see you guys in the next chapter!
> 
> -Nandice


	6. Just a Little Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The earth’s rotation stills with my gaze as it fixates itself onto Thomas. His sturdy stance, standing upright. His defined arms rest stiffly by his sides - leading up to his neck and chiseled jaw which leans forward into his soft lips.
> 
> Which are oh-so-sweetly connected to Teresa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baack :D
> 
> So I wrote this chapter over a couple of months, point being, it ended up being a lot longer than I expected haha, so I've decided to split it up into two, slightly shorter than usual chapters - hope that's okay with you guys!
> 
> But yeah, next chapter's gonna be out tomorrow if anyone's still reading this lol.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy this one <3
> 
> ~Nandice
> 
> ***T/W heavy suicide mentions, implied depression***

I keep a steady gaze on the dimming, orange sun, almost sunken under the horizon, the sky bidding it’s goodbyes to it in deep, blue hues.

Eying the empty jar in my hand, I long for the bitter, brown liquid that once laid inside it. I let out a long sigh and lean my head back against the infamous wooden boardwalk. The blazing bonfire - roaring in front of us, lurks burning ashes up in the air, my gaze traces them as they slowly float back down to the cool sand - gradually losing their fiery glow.

The fast, rhythmic beating of drums washes over the fire, as a few scattered groups of people dance around it - wild smiles covering their faces.

I take in all of the feelings, smells, sights, sounds. Feeling sure and ready that this is the last time I’ll experience them. I’ve decided it. I don’t feel nervous. I don’t feel shaken. Infact, don’t feel anything at all. And it’s been like that for a while now. A long while. I long while of feeling _so much_ that now, it’s almost impossible to feel anything at all. It’s just numbness. Exhaustion. Emptiness.

_God. So much emptiness._

But now, it’s time to end the emptiness. It’s the only way, I’m sure of it. I’ve spent years making sure that it is in fact, the only way. A sense of bitter-sweet satisfaction is left in the back of my mouth.

All that’s left to do is to sit through the late night. So I decide to pour all my energy into it. Which isn’t much, the most I can muster lately is a fake laugh and a smile that just reaches my eyes - just enough for everyone to lose their suspicions.

“Here, we can share mine” Thomas hands me his jar, the liquid sloshing up to the brim.

I let out a chuckle, “You’re just looking for an excuse to give up your drink!” I say as I gratefully grasp it and taking a swig.

He laughs. A laugh that creates beautiful crescent moons on his cheeks and hangs weights over his eyes, “Well can you really blame me?” He says before taking back the jar, sipping it, and cringing at the bitter acidity.

“You know, I bet I could count the amount of drinks you’ve had since the glade” I say smugly.

“Oh yeah? Prove it” He challenges with a nod in my direction.

“Umm… zero” I say matter-of-factly, feeling the corners of my mouth unconsciously turn up when I see Tommy throw me an eye-roll.

“Okay uh - not true, but I bet I could count the amount of drinks _you’ve_ had since the glade” I shift my position to face him and lift my eyebrow, certain he wouldn't even be able to count the amount I’ve had _tonight_.

He holds a fist up, ready to count, “Okay so probably 3 the first night I got there,” he pauses dramatically, lifting 3 fingers up already, “4 the night after that, 5 the night after THAT, like 10 the--"

“Oh ha-ha-ha” I laugh sarcastically, “I think you need some help with counting there, Tommy” I say as I move myself to sit cross-legged, facing him and pulling on his arm to do the same. “Now,” I say as I grab ahold of his hand, giving him a sarcastic, wide-eyed stare as our knees touch at the slightest movement, “ **one** \- on the night you first arrived, **none** the night after tha-”

I pause while lifting up his index finger, I feel his gaze on me. I look up, both hands holding one of his. He stares back at me with doe eyes and parted lips - slightly covered by the strands of hair that have fallen over my face, “What?” I chuckle worriedly.

He breaths in slightly, but still not daring to move. His gaze floats down to my lips, then back to my eyes - I return it with one of concern.

_Is there something wrong with my face he can’t bring himself to tell me about?_

He swallows, “Umm… no, it’s nothing” he lets out a disappointed sigh and closes his eyes before he furrows his eyebrows and stares anxiously at the ground, “actually it’s - it’s not nothing” He admits, barely pronouncing his words.

I stare at him suspiciously, there have been very few times where his mouth has run dry with words.

“You just - you look nice tonight, Newt. I mean, you look nice all the time - really nice - and I just--”

“HEY! Thomas! Newt! Meeting with Vince inside!” Minho shouts as we both quickly face him, abruptly being pulled out of our own little world, neither of us react immediately, as if we’d suddenly been woken up during a dream.

“Now?” He yells, a little confused, from across the fire. Throwing his arms out to his sides, waiting for a reaction.

I let out a small cough, giving Thomas a questioning glance. He swallows, “Uh, yeah,” he stares at the ground, seemingly unable to comprehend what exactly is going on, “yes, we should uh, we should get going.” He stands up and offers me a hand.

_God, the last thing I want to do on my last night is have another damn meeting about the new search team Vince is planning on creating._

  
I stare up at Thomas, contemplating my decisions, “I’m really not up for that meeting right now, Tommy, would you mind covering for me? Could you uh” I pause, my heart sinking a little, “could you fill me up on what happens tomorrow?” I plaster a smile onto my face. 

His frown deepens, “Oh… yeah of course” he says as he quickly withdraws his hand, disapointment detectable in his expression. 

“Tommy?” I ask as he begins to walk away, he turns back to face me, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Talk again later, yeah?” 

A smile, then a spring to his step.

 

~~~

  
I roll my head against the back of the boardwalk to glance at Harriet - she holds a concentrated gaze forward - a glint in her eyes. One that I’m all too familiar with. I follow her line of sight and find Sonya dancing around the fire so freely, it’s as if no one’s watching her - her hips moving with the beat of the drums, arms moving from where they were tangled in her hair, to hang loosely in the air. The warm light of the fire - fighting off the darkness, and highlighting her closed eyes and enormous, toothy smile.

I turn back to Harriet and find that she’s fallen even deeper - her lips - slightly parted and her eyes not daring to blink - not wanting to risk losing a second. Her forest eyes are lost in a trance - unable to come back to reality. I immediately know what’s happening.

“You like her, don’t you?” I ask.

Her eyes flicker to mine, then back to Sonya, “What? Who?” She blinks several times as she quickly fixes her gaze back onto me.

I let out a loud chuckle, “Come on, Harriet, you can’t keep your eyes off her for more than five seconds” I accuse, gesturing towards the blonde. 

All of my thoughts just seem to come naturally when I talk to Harriet. Over the past couple of months, when I’ve managed to block everyone out - she’s stuck with me. Whether I liked or not. I’ll admit, maybe at first, I didn’t want her to. But now, it’s something I’m really grateful for. Our friendship sprung up like a wildflower amongst a bed of weeds. 

She lets out a defeated sigh and closes her eyes as she leans her head back, “Shit,” she rolls her head to the side, turning to me, her eyebrows arching as her eyes open slightly, “is it really that obvious?”

I let out another small chuckle and look up at the stars, remembering all the times I’d suspected her feelings for Sonya. It’s always been pretty obvious, but I’d never asked until now - when I’m certain. Then I glance back at her and wink, “Welcome to the club” I say as I raise my empty glass - admittedly, feeling a little envious of her, as I’m pretty sure Sonya also has feelings for Harriet - I guess they’ve just never had the courage to admit them to each other. That’s something I’ll never get to experience with Thomas. 

“So it _is_ that obvious,” she sighs into her hands, “don’t even know why I bothered hiding it from you.”

“How long?”

She sighs again, reflecting, casting a longing gaze toward dancing Sonya, “Forever” memories of her past with Sonya seem to lift up the corners of her lips into a reminiscent smile.

“I get that.” I respond understandingly.

“What Thomas and you have is different.” her eyebrows dig two lines into her forehead, her voice - stern and sure.

“Thomas and I _have_ nothing” I remind her - and no matter how many times I do, the idea never seems to stick in her head.

“Maybe if you just give him a chance and _talked_ to him--”

“Give him a chance?” I huff, I feel my face simmer with anger, “you’re acting as if _he’s_ the one who’s fallen head over heels for someone he doesn't have a chance with.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to have to see him everyday and keep things friendly - but…” she pauses, pursing her lips, holding something back, “maybe… maybe everything’s not the way you think it is, maybe Thomas sees you differently than what you think he does.”

“So now you’re saying Tommy hates me?” I cringe internally at the accidental use of his nickname.

She throws me an annoyed eye roll, “I’m _saying_ that maybe he has feelings for you too.”

  
I let out a defeated sigh - there’s no way in hell that that’s even a possibility, I’ve had to come to terms with that along time ago. The flowers he’d planted in the pit of my stomach wilted with my sense of hope.

“You can’t just go around making assumptions - you know how he feels about Teresa, and even if he didn’t have feelings for her, he’d never see me as anything more than just a friend.”

My gut twists as I speak, I feel my throat tightening. Head feeling like a balloon ready to pop. It’s so much harder to speak about Thomas than to think about him.

“I’m not making assumptions, Newt, I--” she abruptly stops herself, unable to find the right words, “you don’t understand--”

“ **Understand what**?” I question, my temper getting shorter.

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE TOLD ME!" she exclaims, her voice filled with desperation for me to understand her.

I stop. A thousand different possibilities on what Thomas could have told Harriet swirl around in my mind.

_He told Harriet that he likes me? Surely he must’ve been joking. Why would he do something so cruel as to joke about something like that though?_  

The thought almost comforts me in a way, I know he cares about me, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me - so if he _was_ joking about how he likes me, at least he doesn't know I feel that way towards him. If he did, I know he wouldn’t push that button.

But then I remember tonight. About the letters I’ve prepared. About the location. About the plan. I remember that it doesn't actually matter.

“Look, it doesn't matter, let's just drop this. Promise me we won’t argue for the rest of the night. I just… I just want this night to be something memorable.” I admit, hoping she isn’t catching on to what I’m talking about.

“Okay?” she mutters, “Just thought I’d let you know...” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, and she eyes me up and down, unable to understand my sudden change of emotion.

I ignore her explanation, not wanting to continue with the topic, “You should go dance with her”

 

~~~

 

So, here I sit, watching a flirtatious Harriet dancing with Sonya. Jumping and swaying in rhythm to the rapid beating of drums and the flames of the fire.

_They look so happy._

I absorb the sight in front of me like a sponge, ingraining it into my mind before shifting my gaze around the fire. As I lose myself in the bright flames, my imagination wanders back to our previous conversation.

_I know it’s probably not true, but what if Tommy does like me? What if he’s just been too scared to tell me just like I’ve been too scared to tell him? What if he actually meant what he said earlier? What if he also feels the buzzing electricity everytime out hands are interlocked? What if our stares are more than just stares, what if._

And then everything stops.

The earth’s rotation stills with my gaze as it fixates itself onto Thomas. His sturdy stance, standing upright. His defined arms rest stiffly by his sides - leading up to his neck and chiseled jaw which leans forward into his soft lips. 

Which are oh-so-sweetly connected to Teresa’s. 

The sinking feeling in my stomach doesn’t drown my newfound budding sensation of hope.

No, that would be far too easy.

Instead, it gets suffocated. Strangled and slowly torn apart, strand by strand - searing pain settles in every hollow space inside me. Relentless tornadoes swirl round in my head, filling the space with deafening regret.

Regret for everything. Regret for the maze. Regret for Thomas. Regret for holding on.

I feel everything at once. A merciless tsunami of memories and emotion sinks me to the bottom of my mind and holds me there - drowning me.

I remember when I first laid my eyes on the ethereal angel. Scared and afraid.

I remember slowly falling for him more and more after every act of bravery and kindness.

I remember planting a seed of trust and hope inside him, watching it grow and grow as time went on.

I remember the warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. I remember the fluttering butterflies in my stomach.

I remember the midnight swims and I remember the sunrise.

I remember his warm hands and how his forest eyes connected to mine like magnets. 

But the memories, the feelings, the emotions - unapologetically crushed with a fist of raging anger, destroying every sign of hope, ripping every budding flower out of my body.

And I can feel it burning inside me - I can feel the searing pain against my skin by the way his fingers twitch at the sudden contact she’s made with them.

The way his lips acceptingly glide against hers.

The way his eyes flutter closed and the way she leans into him.

It feels as if my world has slowed to a painstaking pace. Wanting the pangs of jealousy to deepen in my chest, enjoying the wilting flowers in my stomach. My throat tightens as acid covers my eyes in thick layers.

I let out a strangled breath I didn’t know I was holding once he pulls away. I loosen my clenched jaw and balled up hands. I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting to witness the lust they probably both share in their eyes.

_That’s what I get for hoping. I deserve it. I should’ve known. Why, Newt? Why after all this time of learning to accept the fact that_ **_Thomas doesn't fucking like you,_ ** _you go off and live in a dream world that will never exist. After one conversation._ **_One fucking conversation._ **

_I shouldn't even be feeling this way. I should've gotten used to seeing them be intimate. They’ve kissed before, shown affection to each other before, I’m just so stuck in my own head that I haven't learned how to cope with it._  

_You fucking deserve this._

And that’s when I realised that this was the last straw. I don’t have to feel the envy. I don’t have to feel the pain.  
  
Because numbness is better than pain.

I slowly stand up, knees feeling weak and head spinning a little from the alcohol. With shaken steps, I walk back to the storage room, forcing myself to not look at Thomas and Teresa. To not draw any attention to myself.

I walk in long strides, I feel every grain of sand I tread on rub against my feet, I feel how the cool midnight air nips at my fingertips, I feel the sharp exhales from my nose on my upper lip, I feel how the air burns the tears welling up in my eyes, I feel the urge to blink, but don’t, practicing my last attempt at self-control. Because maybe - if I don't blink, everything will be okay.

Maybe if I don’t blink, everything will solve itself.


	7. I Love You Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just so scared, Tommy.” I whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***T/W Heavy mentions of suicide and depression***

The packing process should be simple: blue box, silent handgun and Thomas’ necklace. There’s just one last thing.

I grab clean piece of paper from the desk and messily tear it in half, then, picking up a pen, in scribbly handwriting, I write:

 

I know it’s hard to understand, but this was the only way.

Thank you all for everything.

 

I’m sorry.

 

Everything just got harder. Fuck. I don’t want to feel this. Not now.

I furiously attempt to wipe the blotches of tear stains left on the paper, but to no avail. With a sniff and a shaken hand running through my hair, I fold the piece of paper and place it on top of the pile in the blue box before gently closing its lid.

My eyes then shift focus to the small, silent handgun I'd left hidden behind some books on one of the metal shelves. With a swallow and a deep breath, I grab it and place it in my back pocket.

I take one last reminiscent glance of the ghostly room before making my way outside.

I begin walking swiftly toward the hills, but my steps fall short as the tears keep falling. I’m not thinking. I’m not feeling, yet they won’t stop. I inhale, breath quivering.

And for the first time in a long time, I listen to my gut, almost pulling me back to the fire with an invisible rope.

I just need to see them one last time.

 

~~~

 

I place my backpack down on the sand while observing the casual gathering from a distance - the relaxed, yet lively atmosphere is still deeply settled into the air.

_See, Newt? Life carries on without you._

A deep inhale. A scanning of the area. Things feel weird, I try and numb my thoughts.

I spot Minho, Gally and Frypan standing close together, talking about something I don’t know of. Laughing at jokes I can’t hear. Having a perfectly fun time.

_Why wouldn't they?_

Minho spots me staring and gives me a small wave and an ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ smile. I nod and wave back as Gally and Frypan turn around to see who Minho's waving at. 

“Hey Newt, what're doing standing over there?” Frypan calls out with a bright smile, “Get over here!” 

“Can’t,” I respond, “going with the search party tomorrow, gonna go get some rest.” I say, impressed on how smoothly the lie came out.

Gally chimes in, “Well, at least give me a goodbye hug!”

I smile, Gally saying something so out of character must be because of the alcohol. I don’t make up a lie this time, my feet automatically walk me towards them. I give everyone tight, long hugs. Each one more sombre than the last, and during each one, I silently thank them for everything they’ve done for me. A final goodbye.

“Hey, why’s everyone so lovey-dovey all of a sudden?” Harriet starts as she walks up to us, a little out of breath from all the dancing.

Without a word, I pull her into a tight hug as well, heart sinking, knowing that this will be our last one. She gives me a confused look as we pull back. “I’m going to join the search party tomorrow, just saying goodbye for now” I explain.

“Really? What about your leg?”  She asks, concern in her expression. God, I hope she’s not catching on to my lie.

“Oh... ah, Jorge said I should look after the berg with him while everyone’s out.” I stumble, a bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

“Ah. But aren’t you going with him? How come you gave Minho a hug?” She questions again.

Thankfully, Minho unknowingly saves me, “You think I’m gonna pass down a hug from old Newtie?” He chuckles and playfully punches my arm.

I laugh half heartedly, “Well, I uh - better be heading to bed now.” I stare at the ground, knowing they don’t understand that this is our last goodbye, “See you guys... see you guys tomorrow” I say as I force a smile and begin to walk off, I look over my shoulder and give everyone small waves as they all call out ‘goodnights’ and ‘see ya-s’

My gaze stops halfway in it’s attempt to focus back on the path, to land on Thomas - leaning against a wooden beam, arms fixed on his chest as his stare gets lost in the fire.

_I can’t go up to him. Not after him and Teresa. Not after everything._

But for some reason, my gaze can’t seem to tear itself away from him. I feel my heart slow as it sinks further down my chest, the wilted flowers in the pit of my stomach remind me of their presence in longing calls. My eyes begin to burn. My head begins to throb. My knees feel weak.

Then, like lighting, he meets my stare, his expression immediately softening to something of sympathy and concern. Almost like he can read my thoughts.

I quickly turn away, unable to face him, and begin making my way to the hill in fast, long strides.

 

~~~

 

I can feel the hairs on my back stand up when I realise Thomas is on my trail as I walk past the storage room.

_He knows what I’m going to do. I don’t want to face him. He’s just making things harder than they need to be. Fuck._

“Newt?” he calls out from behind me, concern woven in his tone.

I keep my walls strong and ignore him. I have nothing to say.

“Newt, where are you going?” he asks, “Come back to the fire!”

Silence again. I feel the long grass tickling the tips of my fingers as we begin to walk through the grassy forest.

“Please?” he asks.

“Leave me alone, Tommy. Go back to your friends” I say bitterly.

“What? I wasn’t even talking to anyone, why are you--”

“What I meant was, go back to Teresa, Thomas!” The words spill out of my mouth uncontrollably. I instantly regret saying that, but regret doesn’t show on my stern expression.

“Wha - oh, the kiss? No, no you don’t understan--”

“I don’t understand what, Tommy? The fact that you’re in love with Teresa?” I shout carelessly, words filled with internalised anger I didn't know I had inside me, “‘Cause trust me, I wish I fucking did.”

“I don’t love Teresa!” He shouts, “Why do you always --” He stops mid-sentence.

“Is that a gun in your pocket?” He asks, a mixture of anger and anxiousness in his voice, “What the hell are you doing with a gun?” he’s shouting now.

He catches up to me and grabs it from my back pocket.

I immediately stop walking and spin around to face him, red, hot anger flooding my face. I snatch back the gun, “It’s none of your business. Leave me alone.” I spit, staring straight into his worried eyes, before spinning back around, resuming my normal pace and shoving the gun back in my pocket.

“Of course it’s my business!” He says, easily catching up to me. 

“Oh really?” I snarkily chuckle, “How so?” 

“Because I care for you, Newt. Because you’re my best friend. Because I love you!” His voice softens as he slows his pace.

I stop dead in my tracks.

_He… loves me?_

I regain my composure when I realise that the kind of love that he feels for me is worlds apart from the kind of love that I feel for him.

He’s talking about _platonic_ love. _Friendly_ love. I know he is.

_Don’t get your hopes up now, Newt. Not now. Stop delaying the inevitable._  

I turn around to face him again, “So if you really love me, take this and go home,” I hand him his necklace, “don’t read it until tomorrow.” my last letter to him - shoved in a tiny glass bottle attached to a black string he can hang around his neck.

Wearily, he takes the bottle from my hands, tracing it with eyes of worry. I quickly turn around again and resume walking before he can ask me about it.

It doesn't take long before he snaps out of it and catches up to me again, “You seriously think I’m going to leave you here?” he asks, “where the hell are you going? Just let me talk to you… please”. His tone changes from one of frustration to one of helplessness.

I don’t have a response for him - besides, I’ve made it to the spot. 

“What are you doing? You’re scaring me, Newt - you gotta stop!” he shouts as I drop to my knees on the ground and begin re-ordering the letters in the box.

He knows what I’m going to do. I can feel tears well up in my eyes.

I pause, still not looking back at Thomas from where he stands behind me, “Give me a reason to.” my voice comes out strangled. 

I look back at him, “Because they need you, Newt,” he gestures toward the Safe Haven, “because _I_ need you.” he says, eyes red and watery.

And just like that. I can’t hold back anymore. 

I stand up and stare the ethereal angel straight in the eyes, “You know what, Thomas? You haven’t the **slightest** idea of what it’s like to need someone,” I growl, “you will **never** understand how fucking gut-wrenching it feels to love someone who will never feel the same way about you.”

I feel burning tears pool up in my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I don’t bother wiping them. He needs to know how I feel. He needs to understand.

He tries to say something but words don’t come out of his mouth. The pain in his eyes becomes more visible, but I can’t seem to stop the waterfall of words streaming out of my mouth 

“It feels like a thousand knives stabbing you in your gut _over and over again._

It feels like your heart is slowly being ripped apart by the same hands that made it skip a beat”

I take a step forward. Thomas takes a step back.

“ **You’ll never understand what it’s fucking like, Thomas!** ” I scream at him, and my heart nearly breaks at the sight of his pain-filled, teary eyes

But it’s not enough to stop me.

“ **You’ll never understand how hard it is for me to keep smiling, how hard it is for me to act like everything’s okay,** BECAUSE IT WAS NEVER FUCKING OKAY. NEVER.” my voice crumbles as I sob and scream at him, hands shaking.

“Not in the Glade, not in the Scorch, not now--”

“ **Well do you think I never tried?”** He interrupts me with a cold tone, “ **Do you think I just never gave a damn?”** he says as his voice rises.

I press my lips together, shocked, suddenly unable to form coherent sentences. He stares back at me with pained, yet relentless eyes.

“What about the sunrise? What about my mom’s trick? What about the walks and the conversations and the secrets?” he questions, “did those mean nothing to you?” his tone softens and my heart breaks in two because of the hurt in his stare.

“They meant the world to me,” I say truthfully, “they kept me alive, but I didn’t want you to feel like you had to constantly look after me.” 

“But I didn’t feel that way!” he exclaims, frustrated, “I just wanted to be there for you, Newt. Nothing made me happier…” he admits.

I’m speechless, “I... I didn't--” I say as I try to lift his gaze off the floor.

Thomas starts again, “I just wanted to take the pain away… I just wanted to make you happy, but every time I tried, you’d… you’d--”

“I’d block you out” Thomas immediately looks up at me as I finish his sentence, “And I’m glad I did, because I care too much for your to feel any kind of pain because I selfishly asked for your validation.” I say sternly, making an effort to keep my voice from cracking.

He stares back at me, dumbfounded, “Newt, I would never… I would never think that, I…” he pauses, struggling to find the right words, “you’re everything to me,” he looks up at me, “and that means your pain is my pain.” his eyes have never looked so serious.

My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest. He doesn’t understand. All I’m trying to do is protect him.

Protect him from myself, Newt, the selfish monster who creates worlds of pain and sucks others into them.

“Tommy, I…” I start, but my mouths is a labyrinth in which my words lose themselves in. 

I sniff, a deadly connection lays stagnant between our eyes. Tears begin flowing down his cheeks and he begins to breath through his mouth because his nose is too stuffy. He stares back at me, eyes full with fear.

“I don’t want you to hurt” Thomas croaks out, eyes bloodshot and sunken under a sea of tears. 

A pause. I need to protect him. He doesn’t need me. I look down at my feet regretfully.

“Well I’m fucking hurting. Doesn’t matter if you want me to or not” I say.

He starts, “Newt, don’t--” 

“You wanna know what it feels like?” I chuckle with a tight throat, “It feels like shoving a hurricane of emotions inside a box and praying it never escapes.” 

I hear him swallow and exhale a shaken breath.

“It feels like you’re drowning. And you’re _so close_ to the surface, but another wave just comes crashing down on you, each one bigger than the last.”

He sniffs and inhales sharply, visualising my pain. Feeling it. He needs to stop.

I take a deep breath, and with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose and patchy cheeks, I whisper, “But even when you manage to surface, you don’t dare breath in, because breathing in means _he’ll know that you love him_.  

_And that’s when everything becomes real._ ” 

I keep my gaze steadily on the ground, too afraid to look him in the eyes.

“So you just let yourself suffocate. You let yourself suffocate until the air left in your lungs begins to burn your insides, until it strangles the flowers he planted inside you.”

I take in a shaken breath and look up at him, “And you live with that pain everyday.” I whisper. Because that’s all I can manage, “you live with that pain every single day until you give in. 

From a lion, to an ant. That’s what I feel like. He stares back at me with a tormented face I want to cradle in my hands and wipe the cool tears off of. 

“I can’t take it anymore, Tommy. I’m so sorry for putting you through this.” I sob as my knees begin to lose control. With a shocked hitch in Thomas’ breath, he quickly catches me as I lose my balance, and brings me to my feet again.

I pull him into a tight hug I never want to let go of.

Because Thomas is everything.

Thomas is the thread holding my sanity together.

Thomas is the blossoming flower in my lungs.

Thomas is the oxygen I survive on.

Thomas is the last finger holding on, saving me from the black hole.  
So if I let go, my conscious will too.

I feel a puddle of tears on my left shoulder where he rests his chin, holding me just as tight as I hold him.

“Listen to me okay?” he says, “I never want you to apologise for something that isn’t your fault... for something that you have no control over” He says, tone gentle and calm. 

I sniff and nod into his shoulder, eyes closed and lips resting on the soft fabric covering it, filled with the undeniable scent of fallen autumn leaves and sea salt.

“You’re not selfish, but you’re the biggest idiot I know because you think no one cares about you.” he chuckles lightly.

I smile unintentionally into his shoulder. My heart, ever so slowly, piecing itself back together.

“I’m just so scared, Tommy.” I whisper.

Thomas pulls me in tighter, “I know. I’m scared too,” he says, “but I’m here. I’m always here, and I promise I’m never going to leave you.”

I pull out and look at him, his face still wet and blotchy, matching my own, but his glossy eyes have newfound hope in them.

“I love you”, I whisper, but this time it’s different. It’s not a confession, it’s not an argument, it’s not forced.

It’s real.

And Thomas knows that. He concentrates on my eyes, my nose, my lips with those angelic eyes, his eyebrows furrow - aching for something. His lips part from each other and another tear rolls down his face. 

And then I die.

I must have, because the next thing I feel are his lips dancing on mine, the next thing I taste is coffee and salty tears. 

But I don’t actually care if I'm dead or alive, because all that matters is Thomas, all I can feel is Thomas, all I am is him, and all he is, is me.

His lips fit with mine like a puzzle piece, soft and warm, moving against mine ever so gently. I sigh into him and pull him closer, he wraps his steady arms around my waist and feels up and down my back as I grab the hairs at the back of his head and pull his body into mine.

I feel him breath hungrily into my mouth, I feel the way his eyes are squeezed shut, wanting and needing more. I feel a burn in my stomach and I taste the salt of the tears in between us.

My heart swells in my chest and aches for more.

I feel Thomas and the way he presses against me, I feel like I’m floating, I feel all the stars in the galaxy align, I realise feel more alive kissing Thomas than I’ve ever felt in my life.

Because suddenly, everything feels right.

I pull out gently before kissing him one last time, worried it will be the last time I’ll be able to, and still not wanting to let go.

I look up at Thomas, who slowly opens his eyes. His swollen, red lips make me want to grab his face and pull him in again. His soft eyes look back at me, and search for answers in my own. 

He lifts his arm from my waist and gently strokes a few stray strands of hair on my forehead to the side, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he smiles warmly. 

I try and think, but my mind is in some kind of happily-drunken haze. It still doesn’t feel real.

“Have I died and gone to heaven, Tommy?” I goofily confess, genuine confusion detectable on my face.

He chuckles and stares back at me with those beautiful, forest brown eyes of his and slowly shakes his head.

“I love you too.” he says, not the slightest trace of doubt in his voice.

And that’s when I know that everything’s going to be okay. 

So I kiss him again. And again. And again.

Because I love Thomas. Because everything’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaayyy finally, a happy ending to such a dreary fic haha!! :D
> 
> So this fic might be all serious n shit, but it's also a place for me to really experiment and push the boundaries of what I feel comfortable writing. That being said, pretty sure that was the first kissing scene I've written - I tried to make it as warm and fluffy as possible, hopefully it didn't come out too cheesy lol :))
> 
> I tried to blend in the kind of sad parts with the happy/hopeful parts as seamlessly as possible, and I'm pretty happy with the results! This was a very dialogue heavy chapter, so let me know if you enjoyed that kinda style :p
> 
> But yeah, as always, hope you guys enjoyed this one - I'm happy to hear any feedback and/or suggestions!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> ~Nandice

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's reading this, thank you so much for taking some time out of your day to read this armature little fan fiction.
> 
> This is the first proper writing piece I've ever published. I am inexperienced, and I am absolute garbage compared to the other writers on this site, but, I am passionate about this story, and I want to stay determined, and keep posting chapters regularly. 
> 
> Constructive Criticism and any storyline ideas would be appreciated!
> 
> -Nandi


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